Secret Torture (Student/Teacher) - COMPLETED

Chapter Thirty Two: Forgetfulness

James was back in school the following day. I was not. I lied once more, telling my mother I had a terrible stomach ache. Yet, even though my decision to fake sick was a cowardly attempt at avoiding James - not to mention the endless questions of "What happened to your face?" -  when my phone rang at precisely 12:30, and his name appeared on my screen, I didn't hesitate in answering. In fact, I was happier than I'd be willing to admit.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he said. "You're not in school today."

Despite everything, I felt myself smile. Forgetting the bad stuff was a very easy thing to do. Almost too easy. 

"I know. It's just a stomach ache."

"Stomach ache?" he repeated, unconvinced. 

"I'll be back in school tomorrow, James."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise," I said, smiling.

"So you're home, all alone?"

"Yep," I said, thinking nothing of his question - until it eventually dawned on me. "Why do you ask?" I questioned, somewhat suspiciously.

"It's lunch now, and I have a free period after. Can I come and see you?"

The thought of facing James had appeared to be so terrifying earlier that morning, when I awoke in bed, the entire left side of my face aching. Yet now, the idea of seeing him thrilled me.

"Yes," I said. Walter was at work. Mom was out. Ben was in school. It was perfect timing.

"Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Okay. Bye."

"I love you. Goodbye."

I hung up, and quickly hopped out of bed to change into something other than my pastel pink pajamas. I tore through my wardrobe until I found a clean pair of jeans and a top to match. There wasn't much I could do about the whole bed hair situation. I pulled it out of its ponytail and let it flow down my back, rustling it a little bit, pulling at golden strands until it looked somewhat presentable. There was absolutely nothing I could do about the bruises. 

Hearing the doorbell ring, I rushed downstairs and pulled the front door open. James stood there, dressed in his usual smart-casual attire, smiling gently. 

"Hey," he said. 

"Hi," I grinned, still breathless from the rush downstairs. 

"Are you going to let me in?" he asked, chuckling.

I nodded my head, opening the door. "Right. Yeah. Come on in."

James stepped into my home for the first time. His eyes shot upwards, gazing at the intimidatingly high ceilings. 

"Wow. Nice place you got here."

I smiled. "Thanks. Maybe we should go upstairs?" I suggested.

James agreed and followed me up the grand staircase to my bedroom. It felt weird, having him standing there, in my bedroom. I had been to his house so many times now, yet he had never been in mine. He looked oddly curious, his eyes wandering across my bedroom, analyzing it. I wished I had taken the time to clean it. My bed was unmade, my pajamas were in a pile on the floor, and my wardrobe doors were wide open for all to see the disorganized array of clothes. 

When his eyes landed on my desk, he quickly walked over towards it. I had countless pages of sketches, doodles, drawings and paintings tossed all over it, even pinned onto the wall above it. He flicked through them all with a fascinated curiosity, pausing every now and then to closely examine one.